


Sexcapades Across Skyrim

by DanyellaSkylerSilverfire, notbug (KageKashu)



Series: The Dragonborn Comes (Shouting as only an Uchiha can) [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Naruto
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Drunken Shenanigans, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, Implied/Referenced Drunken Sex, Implied/Referenced past dubcon, M/M, Memory Loss, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 03:57:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18438557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanyellaSkylerSilverfire/pseuds/DanyellaSkylerSilverfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KageKashu/pseuds/notbug
Summary: The morning after the week before. Madara wakes up after having drinks with a certain mage in the Bannered Mare, and has to put together just what happened in between. Not to mention the prize he was promised for winning a drinking contest.





	Sexcapades Across Skyrim

**Author's Note:**

> A warning before you start. This depicts a character who had sex with people while under the influence of alcohol (and possibly other things), and _does not remember_. _He_ is not bothered too much by this. But it's a potentially triggery thing, so I'm giving a clear warning right here.

Drinking with that damned mage was a mistake, and Madara has no idea where he is, beyond a very nice bed, scattered with bottles. Worse, he isn’t alone. A dunmer - male, thankfully, because if it was a woman, he doesn’t know what he’d do - is laying next to him, face curled into his own arm.

 _’Why is it always elves?’_ he wonders, rolling onto his back, grimacing when he finds one of the bottles _under him_ , because no, that is not what he wants to suffer when he’s already suffering from a massive hangover. At another glance, he decides that the elf isn’t terribly unattractive - a bit older than he’d prefer, possibly by centuries, but not hideous, or worse, foul smelling.

Actually, beyond the stale scent of far too much mead, ale and wine, this place smells intriguing. Like plants and running water, and that strange tingle of magic. No one ever believes him when he says he can smell magic. He can taste it too, when he breathes, and it’s fascinatingly pungent here, given that he can smell it over himself.

He stretches languidly, none of his aches catching him by surprise - not even the aches that he could only have acquired via sex. _Those_ he expected the moment he realized that he was waking in some strange elf’s bed. The most annoying thing is that he doesn’t remember how he got here.

The elf - not Tobirama, though Madara definitely wouldn’t mind ending up in _his_ bed - mutters in his sleep, something about “Clairvoyance” being an illusion spell because it deals specifically with the mind, and does anyone have a good question already?

...the elf is obviously a teacher. _‘Go me,’_ Madara thinks. His taste, given how drunk he must have been, could have definitely been worse... That doesn’t mean he wants to stick around and wait for the elf to wake up.

He’s leaning over the bed to grab what are probably his pants - maybe? they certainly look like the right size - when the elf speaks more clearly. “Where are you going? We have a discussion to finish!”

* * *

Madara isn’t sure how long later it is, that he leaves the Archmage’s quarters, but a little voice inside of his head is whispering in shock - _‘Go me!’_ it says. He was proud enough, thinking he caught the attention of a teacher, but the _Archmage_?

Drunk him was apparently highly articulate, talking advanced magic theory like he could say more than his own name without putting his foot in his mouth. He doesn’t know how that happened. Still. Apparently his theories connecting Illusion magics to other types of magic earned him a place at the college, without the usual screening. Amazingly, drunk him was able to articulate his thoughts on the subject.

He also got some spiffy robes out of the deal, too. It was good not to have to slip back into his previous robes - which were getting to the point of walking off on their own - but the verdigris isn’t his best color. Vivid and darker colors look better on him, but the cloth is good quality, and it doesn’t have the annoying collar, or the excess length of many styles of robe. Of course, he would be grateful just for the fact that it’s clean.

The stairs are _interesting_ to traverse with as bad of a limp as he has, but he makes it to the Hall of the Elements without his legs giving out. That’s where he runs into the first real surprise of his visit to the College of Winterhold. Tobirama, with an armload of books, gives him an affronted look, nose crinkling. “Madara. You reek like a brewery.”

Madara’s unfortunately aware of that. “Yeah, I’ve had an interesting... week?” He’s not certain that it had been a full week since he last remembers, but it seems about right. Savos - weird to think he’s on first name basis with the Archmage of Winterhold, _weirder_ to realize that the Archmage fucked him - had been amused that he needed to tell him the date.

Tobirama nudges him to follow along while he takes the books back to the Arcanum - which seems to be a particularly large library - and questions him on what he’s able to say about the previous week. Tobirama immediately starts laughing at him once he gets to “had sex with the Archmage,” and doesn’t let up while Madara tries to explain what little Savos Aren was able to tell him about _what_ led to him being _here_.

“Look, I started in _Whiterun_. What I remember of that is that that blasted mage proposed a contest - a prize and all - and I woke up in the Archmage’s bed!” He says it a little too loud, and gets hushed by a scowling orc - granted, it’s a rare orc that doesn’t look like they’re scowling, and this one seems to be trying not to laugh. Annoying, but fair, given that he just announced his situation to all and sundry. “Anyway, I earned that staff,” he sniffs, at the end. “I remember him saying I won, so now I just have to find him!”

Tobirama hums, a cheerful little sound. “I’ve been here a little too long, I think. I’d like to travel with you again, and this sounds like a good excuse.”

“Are you offering to help me find out what happened?” Madara asks suspiciously. It certainly sounds like that’s what Tobirama is saying. But Madara has mistaken seemingly straightforward things Tobirama says for the wrong thing before. “And were that blasted mage got off to?”

“Yes. I suspect that I’ll get the chance to learn many new things along the way.” In spite of what he’s saying, Tobirama nudges him into a seat, and pours them each a cup of wine from a nearby bottle. “First, we need to go over any clues you have about what happened. Tell me everything you know about it.”

“The mage I was drinking with was Sam something. Guenvere? I think.” Madara sighs at the look Tobirama gives him. Tobirama already thinks he knows something, and he won’t share it with Madara just yet. “According to Savos, we talked a lot about the nature of Illusion magic, and how other kinds of magic can all be connected back to it, but that I also ranted for a while about Sanguine Vampirism and Morthal. So I suspect that I was in Morthal and possibly had an encounter with a vampire.”

Unfortunately, they aren’t able to actually take any of the books the library has on either subject, but a quick perusal tells him a little about Morthal’s political situation. He also learns that curing Sanguine Vampirism is a fairly simple affair. Which is probably a good thing, given that he suspects that he’s contracted it.

“You don’t _have_ to cure yourself,” Tobirama points out, pouting as Madara mixes a simple potion to do just that. “Vampires are quite strong. The only real downside is that you need to feed on blood in order to maintain a normal appearance.”

“Uh. No.” Madara scowls as he grinds down a mudcrab claw. “For one, people hate vampires. Two, the sun hates vampires. Three, _I_ hate vampires. The benefits aren’t all that great. I’d rather be stuck as a werewolf.”

Tobirama makes a disappointed sound, but otherwise doesn’t protest further, just watches Madara’s steady hands as they work on the next step of the potion. He debates for a moment between hawk feathers - a classic ingredient, that would do nothing to help the potion’s fishy taste - and vampire dust - which has an odd smell like something from a memory, but he’s not sure what it is - and chooses the later for the irony.

Pure water, boil it alone for thirty seconds before adding the ground chiton. Now it was about timing before he adds the vampire dust. It will work, even if he mucks it up, but it will be gritty in his throat, which he hates.

In the end, he mucks it up, and it’s gritty as hell. He drinks it anyway. Next time, he decides, skip the chiton and use hawk feathers and vampire dust. It should be much better.

On their way out, he hands a note and a couple of septims to what looks like an apprentice, and asks them to take it to the Archmage. Just in case. He’s pretty sure that the Archmage won’t want to be a vampire, either. The note consists of a list of potions ingredients that work for disease cures, and given their conversations both last night and this morning, Madara’s sure the mer will understand what he means.

The trip to Morthal is long on foot, but Madara never thought to invest in a horse, and the creatures don’t seem to like Tobirama anyway.

They talk along the way, catching each other up on what they’ve each been up to since they last saw each other. Tobirama apparently punched a Jarl - the Jarl of Winterhold, in specific - and when Madara, exasperated, asks him why, Tobirama smirks and informs him, “He said that only cowards use magic. I assumed that meant he wanted to fight.”

“Why aren’t you in prison?”

“Because he admitted that he was trying to start a fight. We’ve had drinks together a few times since.” Tobirama still looks stupidly pleased with himself.

Madara groans. It isn’t like he isn’t much better, but Tobirama seems completely unaware of the social and political conventions of man and mer. And one of those conventions is that you don’t punch the guy in charge of a place. “Only you would do something like that...”

Tobirama makes an agreeable sound, then asks Madara about _his_ more recent exploits. Which. Gods. Divines and Daedra both. He’s had the weirdest time since coming to Skyrim.

One big thing that’s been on his mind was how he ended up drinking with that mage, Sam, to begin with. “I was in Markarth, and they were having problems with something disturbing the tombs, so I offered to go check on it. And..."

The woman from the tombs brought up some disturbing memories - and no, he still doesn’t feel guilty, because sometimes cannibalism is _survival_ \- and talked him into clearing draugr from her cult’s shrine. Given that that’s a thing he does, he did as she asked, told the priest that the problem in the tombs was taken care of, and took off into the wilds to find the draugr infested shrine.

The shrine had, indeed, been infested, and with some patience and stealth, Madara killed the draugr, and found that the shrine itself was in front of a great table... And he felt. Strange. Just being there. “Next thing I knew, I ate a priest.”

They walk in silence for long enough that Madara worries that he actually disturbed Tobirama. But then Tobirama is talking, and the concern is washed away. “I never know where your stories are going to go,” he says, and he’s smiling. “So what happened after that?”

“I accidentally joined a cult to Namira? I got this nifty ring from it which. Uh. It’s nice even without, you know. Ehr. Worshipping Namira? But if I..." He can’t say it. He just can’t. Or maybe he can. “You know. Eat people. It has a healing effect. Which is _useful_ but kinda..."

“Kinda what? You kill bandits all the time. Who cares if you eat them too?”

Right. Social conventions. “It’s a taboo, Tobirama.”

“Well that’s stupid. What if the only thing to eat is people?”

“Still taboo, but understandable,” Madara replies. “It’s part of why everyone is paranoid about storing food away for hard times.” Most people don’t actually _want_ to eat other people.

Tobirama makes a face like he still doesn’t get it, but instead of pursuing the subject, asks about the cult instead. Eventually, even that subject dies, and in the distance, a dragon shrieks. They stop and watch it circle the mountains, much too far away to actually draw it in for a fight, and Tobirama mutters something crude about it.

Madara finds Tobirama’s opinion on the dragons utterly refreshing. The elf doesn’t seem to care how big and dangerous they are. To him, they’re no better than the bandits in their camps and caves, or the draugr roaming the ancient tombs of Skyrim.

He does seem... not impressed, really, but intrigued, by Madara’s ability to speak the dragon tongue. Madara finds the whole thing bizarre, but the last time he Shouted in front of Tobirama, the elf had been pleased and complimented him on his control. The flattery was warming, and he rather wants to do it again, just to hear how much Tobirama thinks he’s improved.

They spend the rest of the trip to Morthal discussing the dragons, and how many of them Madara has encountered on the road - too many - and what utter bastards they are.

Madara has been through Morthal twice now... that he remembers. This will be his fourth visit, if he decides to include the third. It’s just as cold and damp as he remembers, though it doesn’t bother Tobirama at all. Like social conventions, the elf just doesn’t seem to notice such things.

The visit is cut short when someone darts out of a house, and drags Madara in, leaving a baffled Tobirama behind. A few minutes later he steps back out. With a black soul gem, a letter, and a coin purse. Also, with far more confusion than he had before getting dragged inside.

“So. I’m supposed to talk to the Jarl’s wizard about the contents of this letter, and... thanks for the orgy, he says.” Madara cocks his head at Tobirama, who blinks back. “What did I do here? I. I wish I could remember, because at the moment all I have is a great big what the everloving fuck!”

“Apparently you had an orgy,” Tobirama tells him.

“With who!?”

“Probably a vampire, considering the circumstances.” Tobirama snickers. “What was that about hating vampires?”

“Fuck you too.”

* * *

It takes days to unravel that mystery, get everything sorted out, and get a lead on the mage with the staff. Madara doesn’t mind getting involved with a vampire that wanted to cure itself, he supposes.

He’d still like to remember this orgy he was supposedly part of, but walking away with information about Sam is what he got. And he’ll take that. Gladly. They were also rewarded for collecting the necessary ingredients to cure a whole lot of full-blown vampires of their affliction, so... that was nice too.

Madara has to snatch up the spell tome before Tobirama gets at it. Tobirama has better access than him, or has had. Because Tobirama has been part of the college for a while now, where they have book upon books. Madara got a pretty good look at their library and he _itches_ to go back as soon as he can.

After he finds Sam and his damned staff, anyway.

The information sends them all the way back to Markarth. The less said about the orc from Understone Keep, and the wizard’s son, the better. He got paid not to mention it, ever again. Apparently it’s bad enough for an Altmer to end up in bed with a human, but an _orc_?

(The other two had to have been nearly as drunk as Madara, and lucky enough to remember.)

Honestly, Madara likes the orc better.

The tusks throw him off a little, but other than that... There’s something to be said for a blacksmith’s arms. Not that he actually dislikes either of them. He just doesn’t think he can understand them.

Aicantar is the kind of scholar that doesn’t do much outside of his area of interest, and Moth gro-Bagol is equally focused on his work. Madara has too many interests drawing his attention. Doesn’t get how anyone can choose to focus on one small thing only when the world is so fascinating and diverse.

The cross racial hatred grates though. Madara’s glad to leave that threesome in the past. Even if he regrets not remembering. Those _arms_...

While they’re picking over the latest clues in the Silverblood Inn, a woman in monk’s robes approaches. One moment Madara is trying to greet her, then next she slaps him so hard that his jaw aches. “Alright. What did I do to you, personally?”

“How _dare you_ ,” she hisses, leaning into his face, “call our Lady Dibella _bigoted_!”

While he leans back from her - and Tobirama snickers beside him - the gears start turning in Madara’s brain. “Is that _exactly_ what I said?”

“No. You ranted about it for half an hour,” she snaps. “Those statues aren’t just _nude statues of women_ , they’re depictions of Dibella herself! The Divine of Beauty and of all things that make life worth living!”

“All the art is supposed to be Dibella?” Madara prods, because he’s been in the Temple of Dibella before. And there was more than just the statuary. All female. Like women are the only beautiful thing in the world. Like they can’t fathom that anyone wouldn’t find women attractive. Yeah, he’d call that bigoted.

“All the... art? The statues are all Dibella,” she says, starting to look confused.

“But the rest of it?”

She doesn’t answer, and Madara doesn’t expect it, not with the baffled anger on her face.

“Look, I wasn’t myself when I was last here, and I remember nothing of what I may have said or done, but.” He pauses, tries to find a way to articulate himself, even if he’s bad at it. “If there’s one thing I like about Skyrim it’s that no one looks twice when a man loves a man. And your temple doesn’t acknowledge that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Personally, I think women look weird. I’m not into that. So when I go into a place that tries to tell me that beauty is only a feminine thing, I get a bit annoyed. It doesn’t seem right to me. _Beauty has no gender_.”

She huffs at him, mutters to herself, then turns to leave. “You don’t have to be unsightly about it!” she calls over her shoulder before leaving.

To his surprise, there’s a quiet round of applause, following the priestess’s departure.

“So..." Tobirama drawls, lips just barely touching the rim of a bottle of local mead. “Does that mean, if Dibella appears as what one considers most beautiful... She’d appear to you as a male elf?”

(They get kicked out of the inn, for the brawl that caused, and Madara doesn’t plan on talking to Tobirama again for at _least_ an hour.)

* * *

Finding out that Sam is actually a daedra shouldn’t have been too much of a surprise, when all was said and done. Waking up again on the floor of the Bannered Mare, after last seeing Tobirama in Morvunskar... Madara’s a bit annoyed at the so called Daedric Prince of Debauchery and Dark Indulgences.

Hulda, the proprietress, pokes at him with a broom. “I had a feeling, when I saw you drinking with that mage that I’d find you on the floor eventually,” she tells him, with her strange, rolling accent. He had those drinks weeks ago, and she’s smiling at him like it was only the night before. “Your friend, the... the elf. He was looking for you earlier.”

...did he lose _more time_? “How... how long was it, since you saw me and Sam drinking?”

She hums, leans on her broom. “It was... Sundas?” she asks, and when he nods, she shrugs. “About three and a half weeks.”

With a bit of baffled horror, he realizes that he’s missing three more days. He remembers the long discussion with Sanguine - with more pity than one should have for a powerful daedra, because apparently even a Daedric Prince can be just as awful with words as Madara tends to be when sober - but that can’t account for all of it, can it?

“Your friend got here last night. If you’re lucky, he hasn’t left yet. Those mage types - no offence - don’t seem to get up early. Oh, and before I forget, you dropped your staff... I’ve never seen one like this. It’s... pretty.”

The staff _is_ strangely pretty, looking like a large rose on a thick, woody stem. Madara suspects that it would be unwise to test it in the inn, though he’s curious as to what kind of effect it will have. He has other things to deal with, assuming Hulda is right, and Tobirama _is_ here.

When he feels safe enough to do so, Madara has noticed that Tobirama... sleeps heavily, sprawled out across whatever surface he lands on, clinging possessively to it. It’s amusing. Childish, but... It’s one of the more charming sides that Tobirama presents.

Still, he’s tired too, and Tobirama is... safe for him, too. Flopping into bed with him is nice, in a strange sort of way. “Remind me to tell you all about it when we’re both awake,” he mumbles, then slips back into sleep, comfortable, and not alone.

* * *


End file.
